


That Thing You Do

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-11
Updated: 2009-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extremely silly drunken shennanigans and a thing to be taken care of. You know. A thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Thing You Do

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to dogeared for betaing.

It was a reflection of their combined talents, John figured, the way they divided up responsibilities, he and Rodney, Rodney and him, divided things up according to their skills and talents and experiences so as to decrease the likelihood of either one getting killed or kidnapped or possibly fired. John was in charge of weapons and flying and general badassery, so it stood to reason that he should leave the business of unlocking the hotel room door to Rodney. Rodney was a genius who built bombs and robots and could code software to make farting noises when Woolsey checked his email and that meant hotel door shenanigans were definitely his thing. John's thing was being a badass and shooting bad guys and possibly a little intergalactic larceny, and right now he was also doing all the slouching, although probably only 50% of the being drunk.

"Rodneeeeeey," he mumbled.

"It's very tricky," Rodney answered, and screwed up his face in concentration. He slid the key card back into the lock on the door and – miraculous! At last! – the green light illuminated and the lock made a pleasant little snick.

John's thing was shooting bad guys and slouching and also getting his hands on Rodney's perfect ass as often as possible, so he hustled them both through the door, preferring speed over grace. He kicked the door closed, pressed Rodney up against the wall, said, "Hi, Rodney," grinning for just a second before he kissed him appreciatively, which was, all told, another thing he did.

"You," Rodney said when he came up for air, "are _drunk_."

"True," John nodded solemnly. "So are you."

Rodney grinned. "I _know_ ," he said, gleefully. "And I'm gonna have sex with you now."

"Okay," John nodded, and he shrugged out of his jacket, which was one of his things, because wearing ties and suspenders to keep his shirt tucked in straight and his socks hiked up properly was decidedly not.

"Lights," Rodney mumbled from somewhere beneath his t-shirt as he tried to get naked. "We should – lights are good."

"No lights," John said. "Lights're complicated."

Rodney threw his t-shirt aside and blinked, hair askew. "Need to find the _bed_ ," he pointed out before he got distracted by John's neck, which apparently needed biting.

John's concentration broke for a second, but he girded his loins, or at least the bits of him with willpower, and rallied as best he could. "Okay," he managed. "We can . . . " and he smacked the wall with his hand a few times until he managed to find a light switch, by which time Rodney had his hands inside John's underwear, and it was hard to remember what they'd been talking about and why it mattered in the least. John blinked over the top of Rodney's head, and blinked again when things didn't resolve into something comprehensible. "Rodney?" he asked, batting him about the ear when Rodney didn't immediately stop his very creative licking.

"Nnnnngh," Rodney said, disgruntled, scowling as he looked up. "I was in the middle of something!"

"What's that?" John asked, valiantly ignoring Rodney's excellent point in favor of gesturing across the room.

Rodney turned his head, and for once in his life, didn't say a word.

They untangled themselves after staring for a while, stepped out of pants and socks and shoes and padded across the thick hotel carpeting to squint at the thing that was so perplexing.

"It's a bed," Rodney said at last, poking it with a finger.

John wrinkled his nose. "Why's it so big?"

Rodney stroked his chin, deep in thought. "I think," he said, "I remember big beds."

John rounded it, indulged in some reconnaissance of the other side. He narrowed his eyes, and tried to judge the loft of the duvet by sight alone. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Rodney said. "I think it's for – " he gestured with one hand. "Lots of people."

"Lots?" John asked, prodding the bed with one foot.

"Two," Rodney offered. "At least."

John flipped up the duvet with his toes and peered at the sheets. "That is fucking crazy talk," he said decisively. "How's anyone supposed to – "

Rodney shook his head. "A person could roll over in that bed." He sounded highly suspicious of such a proposal.

"A person could _lose_ another person in that bed," John pointed out. He should probably put a gun under both pillows, just in case he rolled over in his sleep and got too far away from the usual single variety to be of any use to anyone.

"This is totally killing my buzz," Rodney whined.

"Fuck, no," John said, and he was the team leader, he was the badass, he was getting into the fucking enormous bed if it killed him. He adjusted his boxer shorts, snapping the elastic at his hips in practiced badass fashion, and threw back the covers. "We're good," he said, and tripped over his own feet, face-planting into the mattress. He maneuvered onto all fours – pretty quickly for a drunk man – and folded back the duvet on Rodney's side too. "Squishy. For real."

"For real?" Rodney asked, obviously still dubious.

John flopped onto his back and stretched his legs out beneath the covers. "Huh," he said. "Check it out." His arms didn't fall off the side.

"That is _weird_ ," Rodney said firmly. "That is weird and that is _wrong_ ," but he crawled in beside John anyway and pressed up nice and close. He lay there, twitching his feet and watching the answering rise and fall of the duvet at the bottom of the bed. "It doesn't appear carnivorous," he observed.

"I forgot my gun," John said. "It's by the door."

"To kill the bed, or . . ."

"Definitely for bed killing."

"Because I may be drunk," Rodney pointed out, prodding John firmly in the chest and shifting clumsily to kneel above him, "but I am not playing Security Guard in the Bookstore _ever again_."

John laughed appreciatively. "You stole _Crime and Punishment_ ," he snorted.

Rodney wagged a finger. "I _pretended_ to – and you were – and why do we – and, oh, just fuck it," he finished, and leaned in to kiss John messily, pressing John's hands down against the bed. "You are disturbingly hot and," he smacked his lips, "taste of Glenfiddich, mmmm."

John grinned. "I drank a lot," he said proudly.

Rodney quirked an eyebrow. "I got a lot of . . ." He closed one eye, apparently thinking hard. "I don't know. I was going to be funny, but it went away. My funny." He eyed the mattress. "It's probably lost in this bed."

"Better go find it," John said, and pulled the duvet over their head and delved about with his hands.

He didn't find a funny, but he did find Rodney's ass.

*****

John woke up next morning in the middle of the bed, plastered up against Rodney's back, holding on as if for dear life. He blinked drowsily at the half-light of the room, at the tasteful wallpaper, at the pile of clothes near the door. "Riiiiiight," he yawned against Rodney's neck. "Crazy fucked-up bed."

Rodney rumbled something incomprehensible and turned over in John's arms, flopping around until he was up close and personal, nose pressed into the divot of John's throat. "Mmmmnnnph."

John bent one knee, dragging his foot across all the mattress they weren't using. "This is totally a security risk," he muttered into Rodney's hair, feeling Rodney's belly expand against his own with every breath he took.

"Next time," Rodney murmured, sing-song, "we'll jus' get a roll 'way."

John smiled lazily, eyes falling closed, because eyes-falling-closed was a thing he did, like slouching and weaponry and badassing everywhere whenever he wasn't prone. "Roll 'way," he agreed, and twitched the duvet up higher, because arranging bedcovers in case the pillows attacked was one of his things. Rodney just hummed, but then humming was Rodney's responsibility, and John let himself fall asleep since he had Rodney to take care of the humming and the door keys and the robots and the loss of bedroom funny and pretty often, pretty regularly, saving his whole world.


End file.
